


Manners and Monsters

by Louloo134



Series: Love on the Lost Light [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Denial, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hiding the truth, Horror, M/M, Monsters, Proffesionals, Slow Burn, Sorta Vampires, old man otp, sparkeater - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louloo134/pseuds/Louloo134
Summary: Trying to cope with genuine emotion is pretty hard for the former Duly Appointed Officer of the Tyrest Accord, and it's even harder when the bot he thinks he cares about is not only the former leader of the Decepticons, but also avoiding him at every turn.But of course Megatron is avoiding him. When you're a mech turned monster, that's what you do. You avoid the people you love to protect them.





	1. Learning

Minimus Ambus was currently sprawled on his berth, a tiny speck of green inside the berth that was meant for a suit of armor larger than Megatron. He’d felt fine for most of the day, but after checking in on Drift and Ratchet, the suit felt tight, like he couldn’t ventilate in it. He’d almost run back to his hab suite to take it off. Now he was resting, trying to figure out what about Ratchet and Drift had made him feel uneasy.

They had been sitting in their hab suite, just talking. But, as always, Minimus had noticed more than that. Both had been angled towards each other, sitting on the edge of their berth and holding servos. Simple things to do, but things that Minimus was entirely unfamiliar with. He took that as a sign that these were gestures of intimacy, something else he was entirely unfamiliar with. So why would their intimacy make him uncomfortable?

Maybe it was because of his inability to be romantic, to have that kind of connection with someone. It wasn’t that it was impossible, but he knew how everyone viewed him. He wasn’t the sort of bot you dated. The only bot that even might date him would be Rodimus, and he was certain that he’d throttle their captain long before their relationship could grow into anything substantial. 

A knock on the door to his hab suite made him sit upright, pedes dangling high above the ground. “Come in.” Just the sound of his voice would alert whoever was coming in that he wasn’t wearing the Magnus armor right now. With his current state of mind, he wasn’t sure that he could make the Magnus armor work, even if he did feel up to getting back in it.

The door slid open some, and Megatron peered in, one servo still wrapped around the edge of the door, as if he was ready to throw it closed in a moment. Minimus smiled softly as he saw their co-captain, and Megatron’s momentary awkwardness faded as he smiled back. Minimus wasn’t even sure how, but Megatron had a fantastic smile, one that simultaneously communicated the innocence of a sparkling and wisdom to rival that of Tyrest himself. “Hello, Megatron.” He stood up, only barely coming up to the larger mech’s knee at the moment. He had taken off both suits of armor, making him the smallest mech aboard their ship.

Megatron nodded as he stepped inside, sitting down to bring himself a little closer to Minimus’s height. “Is something wrong, Minimus? You don’t often remove both suits.” His deep voice was laced with curiosity and concern, and Minimus couldn’t help but feel safe to talk with him. Somehow, Megatron radiated a form of personal charisma that was undeniably appealing, and despite a few mishaps, the smaller mech still felt that he could trust Megatron.

Moving over to Megatron, he stood near him, leaning against the wall. “I . . . had a lapse in judgement.” He looked up at Megatron, blushing slightly. “Forgive me if this is an impertinent question, but . . . did you ever have a lover?” The words fell awkwardly off his glossa as he spoke, having never asked the question of anyone before.

Much to his relief, the former warlord only blinked in surprise as he thought about it. “I did, but only once.” He seemed to understand that Minimus wanted to hear the story, and had no qualms about explaining. “During my time in the alternate universe, the war never happened, and, well . . . Orion and I became involved.” He pulled out the badge Rodimus had given him, looking at it. “I broke it off after about a year. It just . . . it didn’t feel right.” He tucked the badge away again. “He died a few months later. Murdered by the Council.”

Minimus nodded, incapable of thinking up any words of comfort. There wasn’t any protocol for this. He simply resolved to stand there, letting the silence speak for itself. It took him some time, but he finally managed to find the right words. “Was it worth it? The time you had together?” He was unsure if it was an appropriate question to ask, but he wouldn’t know the answer unless he asked it.

Megatron took the question in stride, as he did most things in life. “It taught me some things, like how easy it can be to sink into a relationship, as well as how hard. It takes a lot of communication, and a willingness to work things out. It’s different for everyone, and it’s nothing like what you read.” Vividly glowing crimson optics looked at Minimus with mild curiosity and possible traces of amusement, though that may have been Minimus’s imagination. “Why do you ask?”

Minimus did his best to give a nonchalant shrug, but it came out as more of a tense shoulder jerk. The former Duly Appointed Officer of the Tyrest Accord had very little practice using subtle body language. Megatron let out a gentle chuckle, pulling one leg up and resting an arm on his knee joint. “Come, Minimus, I hold you in the highest respect. Surely this isn’t something that would damage our relationship with each other, after everything we’ve been through.”

Turning his helm away, Minimus felt his faceplate tingle as a light flush of energon rose to it, tinting his cheeks pink. If he was lucky, he could play it off as a reflection of his scarlet optics against his face. Somehow, just the words ‘our relationship’ were enough to make his energon run a little hotter than normal. “I’ve been feeling . . . I suppose ‘alone’ is an accurate descriptor. Many of the crew members have been finding partners, and it creates some feeling of loss in me.” He was clearly embarrassed by having these feelings, let alone by sharing them. 

Megatron simply nodded coolly, one servo resting on his knee as he thought a little about it. “If you’d like, I’d be more than happy to visit you on one of my breaks and help fill the space.” His words were spoken out of genuine concern for the smaller bot. One of the things Megatron had learned in his years aboard the Lost Light was that Minimus despised being viewed as weak, and an open confession to genuine emotion was a distinct sign of his trust in Megatron as well as his belief that this couldn’t be solved alone.

Minimus didn’t respond and just looked away, moving over to his work desk and lifting up a datapad. “Have you checked with Perceptor about the current status of the engines?” The tone of his voice made it clear that he’d closed off, back to his professional attitude. “Nautica might know more about the subject, however.”

Megatron nodded as he stood up. “I can check on them now. I apologize if I’ve intruded on your time.” He didn’t wait for a response and saw himself out as he left the room with an overly brisk pace, even for his standards. He didn’t slow this pace once, until he’d successfully made it back to his hab and bolted the door.

The joints in his legs very nearly collapsed under him until he managed to manually override the command, staggering to his berth and collapsing onto the edge of it. His tank felt like a living creature, roiling and growling in anger at having not been fed. Not for lack of trying, though. 

His glazed optics moved up to the unappealing containers of energon on his wardrobe before back down to the berth. He knew what he needed, and it was something that was unavailable to him. After all, he’d always known he was a monster. 

Just, he wasn’t always the kind with fangs.


	2. Manage it Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically 'Megatron thinks he has no friends but SURPRISE he does'

Magnus was more than a little surprised when Rodimus pulled him aside as his shift ended. “Rodimus, what did you do?” The fiery captain opened his mouth to defend himself before Magnus cut him off. “You only ever instigate conversations with me when you have something professional to say or are trying to avoid punishment. Given that you are only speaking to me once our shift has ended, I assume you broke something.”

Roddy closed his mouth and pouted for a moment. “So all of that was true, but not for this exact moment. I want . . .” He growled a little, walked in a circle, and ran his servos down his face before turning back to Magnus. “I want you to switch up the work schedules so some of Megatron’s meetings are mine.”

Magnus blinked, frowned, and blinked some more. Were his audials working properly? Had he actually listened to Rodimus, the bot who faked being dead when asked too hard a question, just request more work? “Is your processor damaged? Do I need to set up an appointment with Ratchet?”

“What? No.” He  _ fwumped  _ down into his office chair, spinning idly. “Megs has been slag the last few days. He’s constantly zoning out, randomly leaving, and anytime someone needs his attention, they have to call his name like, twelve times.” He held up a digit. “I know you hate it when I exaggerate but I swear I’m not. I’m no expert but I’m pretty sure he’s working too hard.”

Magnus’s typical frown deepened some at the comment. True, he had noticed, but he hadn’t felt it his place to comment on it. “I will rearrange the schedule accordingly. Thank you for your concern. Should we also send someone to check on him?”

Roddy spun in a full circle before facing him again. “Well duh, but who? Megs isn’t exactly the most popular mech onboard. Even if we sent the Scavengers, what’re the odds that he’d actually open up to them?” He swept his servos out before letting them drop into his lap. “Cyclonus is the only mech that even might stand a chance, but I personally see him as a royal bastard.”

“Don’t disrespect your fellow shipmates. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty.” Magnus made a note to speak with Tailgate on his datapad. “Try to work on your manners for the future.”

Roddy just waved him away as he lifted his own stylus and feigned going to work, only to start doodling as soon as Magnus was out of sight. He couldn’t avoid his new workload, but he could certainly avoid his old one for a while.

Despite admittedly being surprised at the invitation to Swerve’s bar, Megatron somehow felt that he couldn’t refuse it. He’d done a great job of skipping several recent events for others safety, but he also knew that Cyclonus was not only powerful but trustworthy. Out of everyone on that ship, he knew that the silent warrior could be trusted with this secret.

Minimus was also an option, but Megatron wasn’t exactly sure of where the little mech’s loyalties laid. Of whether Minimus would defend and help him, or follow the Autobot code instead. Whatever the case, Cyclonus was the only bot who could be guaranteed to keep his secret as well as take it seriously.

Cyclonus chose to meet with him fairly early in the morning, a time when most sane people weren’t getting drinks. The bar was virtually empty, except for Grimlock and Misfire, the latter working the counter while Swerve was off with something else.

The two took a small booth in a corner of the room, neither one ordering anything yet as Cyclonus looked to him, thinking for a minute before speaking. “With all due respect, what is wrong?”

Megatron blinked back to the living world as he looked to Cyclonus, optics dull. “It’s a rather unusual problem. If I were to tell you, I’d have to request that you swear to secrecy.” 

Cyclonus rose an optic ridge in slight suspicion. If it were any other bot, he’d assume that the mech was overdramatic and calling for attention. But Megatron wasn’t that sort of bot, and if he truly believed this level of secrecy was necessary, then Cyclonus would oblige. “I swear to keep this secret between the two of us. I swear by Terminus.”

A short wave of silence fell over Megatron before he regained his composure with a curt nod. “Thank you. I trust that you remember our brief adventure on Typhoid?” 

Just the mention of it was enough to send an involuntary shiver down Cyclonus’s spine.  _ Typhoid.  _ The planet where all sicknesses gathered. A brief exploration had led to an outbreak of multiple illnesses on board, all of which were luckily curable. “Yes.”

Megatron nodded, one servo on the table and the other anxiously tapping his thigh. “You’re aware that I left the crew for a time while on the planet, and I had a very . . .  _ unlucky  _ encounter.”

The words weren’t forthcoming, and Megatron sighed gently before reaching one of his newly grown tentacles across the table. Cyclonus watched it come forward with his thin lips pressed into a firm line. “You got contaminated.”

Nodding, Megatron coiled the tentacle along his treads again, effectively hiding it with the other three. “I was. I am. I no doubt should’ve stayed on the planet, but I . . . I believed I was strong enough to do this.”

Cyclonus nodded as he listened. “If you need an energon source-” Megatron cut him off with a wave of his servo. He wouldn’t hurt other people for his own personal safety and health. “Alright.”

The former warlord looked to the side. “If . . . should I go feral, I ask that you kill me before anyone gets hurt.” Cyclonus nodded, already planning ways to keep Tailgate inside their hab and out of the public for the foreseeable future. 

Standing up, Megatron thanked him for the invitation before leaving back to his hab. With the door once again locked, he allowed his weakness to slip through the cracks and subsequently consume him for a minute. Metal snapped and shattered as his jaw unhinged, his newly-lengthened and strengthened glossa hanging out between his denta.

Dragging in a shaky invent, Megatron fought to ignore the pounding sensation of all the ship’s sparks around him. Even before this  _ curse  _ settled on him, he’d been strong. It would take no effort to find a suitable bot and draw energon from them. 

_ No! _ One servo braced itself on the wall as he slowly drew his glossa back in, closing his mouth with a sickening  _ snap. _ He would not succumb so easily to this. One way or another, he’d manage it. He could control himself.

The undeniably sweet scent of a Point One Percenter spark approached his hab as he moved away from the door, ignoring the knocking as he took a few more steadying vents. Once he was absolutely certain that he could control himself, he moved back to the door and opened it. His spark immediately sank with fear, horror, and dread.

Minimus looked up with a rare smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kinda turning into a slow burn. There'll be schmoop and cuddles, I promise. I just have to wait until it's relevant to the plot!


	3. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron tries his best to stay controlled, just as Minimus tries his best to help.
> 
> But sometimes your best isn't good enough

He had to admit, he’d received warmer receptions from his enemies.

Standing at the entrance to Megatron’s hab, Minumus’s smile gradually turned awkward as he looked up to the larger mech. It had been over a solid minute that he’d stood there, his spark pounding as each moment stretched out in his processor. Swallowing thickly, he drew upon the rules of common courtesy for strength. “May I come in, or should I come back later?”

The simple sentence was enough to startle Megatron back to himself as he wordlessly stepped aside and allowed Minimus into his hab for the first time. 

An almost sickening wave of heat rolled over Minimus, his external vents snapping closed to preserve the cool air inside his frame. He had no idea as to why the thermostat would be turned up so high, but it wasn’t something that would be polite to ask about. Megatron could run his hab however he wanted, which seemed to be warm and empty. It was void of any belongings except for a desk, a shelf of datapads, and the badge that Rodimus had given him years ago.

Minimus’s single suit of armor was large enough to allow him to sit down in one of the three chairs without looking like a sparkling. Crossing his legs, he looked across to Megatron, who’d taken the chair that was furthest from him. Confusion and a slight sting of rejection nipped at his spark before he managed to brush them away. “I wanted to see how you were doing. Rodimus and I have been . . . worried about you.”

Just admitting that he’d been thinking about Megatron felt like a confession, one that the large mech seemed to pick up on as he sat up even straighter. “Ah. I assumed you would. Just not this soon.” He spoke in a slightly strained tone of voice, his optics very firmly locked onto the armrest of Minimus’s chair, but not Minimus himself.

Minimus’s mustache twitched a little as he frowned. The co-captain was always very good about making optic contact, about making his conversational companion feel justified and valued. “Megatron, you once told me that whatever I had to talk about wouldn’t damage our current relationship. I’d like to extend this same courtesy to you when I ask you what is wrong.”

The former warlord didn’t answer immediately, thinking as he sat. Only his pensive gaze let Minimus know that his question wasn’t forgotten. Shifting a little in his chair instantly caught Megatron’s gaze, a light scarlet flush crossing the gray mechs face before he looked away again. “I would be honored to take up your offer, but . . . to be completely honest, this particular matter would divide your loyalties.”

The little mechs optics narrowed as he sat forward some, every rule-following circuit in his frame lit up. “I beg your pardon?” He near immediately recoiled from the venom in his tone as he hastily regained his composure. “I-I apologize, that was-”

“-Completely justified.” Megatron waved away his apology. “What I said is not what any dignified Autobot wants to hear from their captain.” He looked aside again, folding one leg over another and drumming his digits along his thigh. “It’s a very unique problem, one that puts the entire crew at risk and can only be solved by my expulsion or death.” He spoke in a very matter-of-fact way, letting little to no emotion show on his face. 

Minimus wasn’t sure of how to respond, but his jaw fell slack as he attempted to find the proper words to express himself. “I apologize, but if the problem is this universe’s DJD, I’m-”

“It’s not the DJD.” Megatron cut him off again, a thin sheen of coolant now over his plating. Minimus began to get up to approach him, only for Megatron to virtually fly out of his seat as he leapt up and back. Frame shaking, Megatron spoke to him with an amount of force that was unfit for a captain, but matched the warlord he used to be. “ **_Don’t come near me._ ** ”

Minimus’s energon ran cold. All other noises seemed to muffle except for the pounding of his spark in his chest. Several other things happened in rapid succession, none that he properly understood. Four sharp items prodding at his back and pushing him around. A set of harsh servos on his waist. The vague knowledge that someone was screaming and someone else was shouting. A burning sting of pain in his neck as his optics offlined.

A whisper. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *arms waving* This one is really short but I felt like it didn't need that much to be wICkeD awEsOMe (at least I hope)


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a mech who can weaponize words, Megs sure does have a problem expressing himself

Megatron’s tentacles pulled him closer until he grabbed Minimus by the waist, the ex-warlord swearing loudly as he watched it happen. It felt like watching a dream, like his body belonged to someone else. Minimus started to scream, and some part of Megatron was grateful that he’d specifically soundproofed his room at Ravage’s request.

The screaming might turn into a problem, though. He drew a servo away and pinched the main fuel line of Minimus’s throat cables, shutting off the energon to his processor initiating a system deactivation. The scream slowly tapered off, but the sound of it had brought some part of Megatron back to the forefront of this haze. “I’m sorry.”

With Minimus unconscious, he let his jaw unhinge, oral solvents dripping from between his fangs and glossa. Pulling the little mech up, he ran his glossa along his throat cabling, eventually wrapping it around one particularly plump energon cable. Now that he had nothing between him and his meal, he felt like taking a little time to savor it.

He drew in a long vent, delighting in the hot scent of energon and that beautifully sweet spark. It would take only a single motion to crack open his frail chest and get that treat for himself. But first, he wanted to drink up that delicious energon. This was a small meal, and Megatron wouldn’t let a single drop of it go to waste.

One servo was more than enough to hold him up as he moved the other to grip his chair, the one touch enough to bring back the memory of their conversation just a few minutes ago.  _ You once told me that whatever I had to talk about wouldn’t damage our current relationship. I’d like to extend this same courtesy to you when I ask you what is wrong. _

His servo dug into the chair as he recoiled from his meal, helm snapping left and right. Not his meal.  _ Minimus. _ The mech who, on more than one occasion, was the only bot who believed Megatron was better than who he used to be. He couldn’t let him down now.

Gurgling angrily, his tank objected to the sentiment. What did it matter who it was, as long as they were fed? The co-captain was already near his breaking point. He  _ needed  _ to feed, before he lost control completely. But not like this. He couldn’t treat Minimus like this.

Swallowing back a mouthful of oral solvents, he shakily put Minimus down in one of the chairs as he drew back. It was too dangerous for him to leave his room like this. Whether he liked it or not, he would have to tell Minimus. He deserved to know.

  
  


Minimus’s processor felt stuffy as he groaned, blinking awake. All his fans were running full-blast to try and dispel the stifling heat from his vents, and something sticky coated his throat cables. He raised a servo to the substance, still unsure as to what it was as his optics finally onlined.

He was still in Megatron’s hab, and the events that happened before he passed out came flooding back as he looked around. Megatron was standing on the other side of the room and watching him with sharp optics, but it was the rest of his face that made him gasp.

His jaw was unhinged, jagged cracks splitting the length of his cheeks open as a thick glossa hung out and flicked gently. Large fangs protruded from his mouth with oral solvents dripping between them, a look that he’d seen on very few other creatures. A look that only one species bore.

_ Sparkeater. _

Megatron nodded as he saw the fear and horror on Minimus’s face, his vocalizer glitching some when he spoke. “So no-no-now you kn-know.” The slightest embarrassed flush crossed his face at the glitching, but Minimus was wise enough to not comment on it.

He couldn’t deny a shiver of fear lodging in his tank. Despite being a loadbearer, he knew that there was no way he could defend himself against Megatron like this. He could barely hold his own against Megatron, even with the Magnus armor. If Megatron’s control slipped . . .

_ Stop that.  _ This was Megatron, the mech who took the time to read and appreciate all of his forms. Who never once mocked him for being so small or orderly. The mech that found time in his own busy schedule, in his own problems, to worry about Minimus.

If Megatron should ask for Minimus’s spark, he would give it. There was a good possibility that it was his already. “How long have been a . . . sparkeater?” The word got stuck in his vocalizer for a moment before he managed to utter it.

“Since Typh-Typhoid. T-Two deca-cycles.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his helm, clearly disappointed with himself. 

Minimus’s optics widened as he did the math. “You haven’t eaten in two deca-cycles.” The statement was spoken with combined awe and disbelief as he rubbed more over that odd substance, the events of their previous meeting suddenly making sense. “You tried to eat me.”

Megatron hung his helm as his shoulders hunched up, the horrible posture a clear admittance to his guilt. Despite the slight desire to get upset, Minimus couldn’t blame him. Quite the opposite. He was impressed that the large mech could control himself so well as to not take what he undoubtedly wanted most. “It is understandable.”

The statement let Megatron relax a little, though he still didn’t look Minimus in the optics. “I-I Believe it ma-may be best if I-I-I let Cyc-Cyclonus kill me.” He shrugged some, once again showing little emotion.

“Absolutely not. Our ship needs its captain and poet.” Minimus looked aside as another soft flush crept up to his cheeks. “A few particular shipmates may need you as well.” 

Megatron mirrored his flush as the ex warlord caught onto the sentiment. “I-I cannot pu-put the ship’s crew at ri-ri-risk-risk-risk because of me.” His glossa darted out and licked up the dripping oral solvents hanging from his jaw. 

Minimus nodded as he stood up, making Megatron tense up even more. “I understand completely. Which is why I’d like to offer a proposition. For a sparkeater, you have exceptional control of yourself. However, you still need to feed. I know it wouldn’t be much, but . . .” He drew in a vent, ignoring the stuffy heat. “With the idea in mind that you could feed enough to be satisfied without killing someone, I would gladly give you my energon.”

A fresh wave of drool started to drip from his jaw at the idea. “Th-that’s an enorm-normous risk.” His glossa ran over his lips again in a futile attempt to keep himself clean.

“I trust you, Megatron.” He looked aside as he flushed darkly, too darkly to play it off as a reflection. “I trust you, and as it is my idea, you cannot hold yourself accountable should it go awry.” His mustache twitched a little in his embarrassment as he tensed up.

A few sparkbeats of silence passed before Megatron stepped over and knelt down to be on his level. “Y-You are wi-willing?” Minimus nodded, not quite trusting his own vocalizer. Megatron nodded in return. “I-I . . . trust you too.” Despite Megatron’s admittance, the little mech couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to say something else. 

Megatron’s servos shook from the amount of control he exerted as he gently cupped Minimus’s waist in a tender gesture and pulled him closer. Minimus’s flush only increased, even as he told himself that this was simply convenience, nothing more. He ventilated in shallow waves as Megatron set a servo on his chin and made him tilt his helm back for better access.

Minimus shivered at the cool vents blown over his cabling, doing his best to remain still as Megatron’s glossa rolled over one of his cables before wrapping around it. Sharp pain erupted a moment later as he gasped, and then his processor pinged as he received a comm from Megatron.  _ Thank you. _


	5. Better than Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little honesty

Megatron’s engine revved as soon as the first drop of energon hit his tank, fighting to retain a somewhat calm pace as he drank. The steady energon flow rolled along his glossa, his processor lighting up with the more he fed. Oral solvents dripped from his jaw and smeared along Minimus’s cabling as he drank.

Time seemed to phase out for him as he fed more and more, only startled back to reality once he’d realized that Minimus had gone slack in his hold. With enough energon finally in his system to function properly, he drew back and got out his personal repair kit, sealing up the bite marks on Minimus’s cabling.

The little mech was unconscious, his optics shuttered and systems ventilating slowly. Laying him down on the large berth, Megatron carefully fed him liquid energon, until his spark thrummed along at a steady pace. The sound was still enough to make him salivate, but he’d had enough to eat so that it wasn’t too much of a temptation.

He nursed Minimus back to health as best as he could before waiting for him to online again, his jaw sealing up and hinging again now that his hunger was abated. Despite some of his oral solvents pooling on his chest, he felt much lighter after revealing the truth. 

His servo left Minimus’s chest as he got up to clean himself up, only for his small compatriot to cling gently to his servo. Smiling softly, Megatron sat back down and kindly rubbed his knuckles. Minimus relaxed at the affection, slowly hugging his servo close.

Megatron did his best to clean himself up without getting up, managing to clear up most of the oral solvents, although a few still seeped into the cracks of his plating. It was several more minutes before Minimus slowly stirred awake, nuzzling into his servo more. A soft blush tingled Megatron’s cheeks at the sight.

Minimus hastily let go the moment he realized what he was doing, his cheeks flushing the same color as his optics. “I apologize, Megatron. That was improper.” He rubbed the upper ridge of his cheeks to try and hide his blush, though the ex-warlord just smiled gently. 

“Seeing as how I just quite literally fed off of you, I believe it’s safe to say that we need to renegotiate what is or isn’t proper for us.” He carefully reached over and took Minimus’s servo into his, the green mech looking up in slight confusion. “Before you can ask, I know that the rules on propriety don’t usually need to be bent. And I don’t believe that they should be bent, but replaced entirely.”

Minimus frowned a little as he tried to put it together. “What. . . what exactly are you suggesting, Captain?” He sat forward and tried to think, although Megatron’s servo holding his was making it hard. “Are you suggesting changing your official position?”

“Only with you.” Megatron gently started to rub his knuckles. “With your permission, I’d like to pursue a more . . . intimate relationship with you.” Minimus’s optics were slightly clouded from leftover haze of being fed upon. “I believe a term you would be familiar with is courting.”

That snapped the smaller mech awake in a moment. Shooting up so his spinal struts were perfectly straight, he blinked several times in rapid succession. Perhaps his audials weren’t working properly after offlining. Or maybe he’d woken up in a euthanasia clinic again. Because there was  _ no way  _ someone as charismatic as Megatron wanted anything to do with him and the stick up his aft.

A flush crossed his face at the vulgarity of his own thoughts as he tried to shake them off, looking up to Megatron. “Really? You . . . You value me in that way?”

Megatron smiled gently and nodded. “Minimus, I value you in every way. Whether you be Minimus, Magnus, or anyone in between. You’re a magnificent mech, and my only worry is that I may not be good enough for you.”

Minimus clutched to Megatron’s servo before he could dare to pull it away. “Despite your history, I find that I can rather easily overlook it, seeing how far you’ve come.”

The grey mech nodded with his gentle smile, patting Minimus’s little servo. “Thank you, and I’ll give you some time to rest. Please come and speak to me again once you’re feeling better.” He rubbed his knuckles once more before setting his servo down and leaving, giving the green mech some time alone.

Minimus laid down backwards, his processor still spinning a little as he smiled dorkily up to the ceiling. He couldn’t wait until later.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing but I want this and there'll be more chapters promise


End file.
